


Mr. Hyde

by ChuckleVoodoos



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boxing, Dating The Daredevil, Foggy Can Fight, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:42:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4143303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckleVoodoos/pseuds/ChuckleVoodoos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt’s gentle with Foggy when he’s teaching him, soft touches to guide him into the right position and light little butterfly kisses every time Foggy gets it right. He’s still soft Matt, sweet Matt.</p><p>Then they get into the ring, and Matt’s not soft anymore. Matt’s not sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Hyde

Matt throws a punch and Foggy falls in love.

 

Foggy knew he had a crush on his roommate. Matt is actually the first guy Foggy’s _ever_ had a crush on—before meeting him, Foggy was pretty damn sure he was straight as a ruler. Apparently he’s more like measuring tape: flexible and given to getting tied into knots over silly things. His knots are mostly about how absolutely beautiful Matt looks when he rolls out of bed in the morning, hair a mess and pillow creases on his stupid face.

 

Foggy had thought Matt couldn’t get any lovelier than when he’s smiling sleepily and yawning his way through breakfast, but Foggy had never seen Matt box before either.

 

Actually, Foggy hadn’t even known Matt _could_ box, not like this. Matt had mentioned it vaguely once or twice, that his father was Battling Jack Murdock and that he had taught Matt a little when Matt was just a kid. He’d made it sound like something nostalgic but distant, maybe learning a punch or two but not really keeping in practice. Foggy had felt the same about his childhood judo classes.

 

And yeah, Matt’s fit, but Foggy had just assumed he lifted a weight or two in his spare time, took a jog on the treadmill every once in a while, simple stuff. Not _this._

 

Matt’s out of breath and covered in a thin glow of sweat, a picture which Foggy has only seen before in his guilty late-night fantasies. It looks, impossibly, even better than he imagined. Matt’s stripped down to a tank top too, very tight— _way_ too tight and very white, so it’s practically see-through at this point. And he’s built, Foggy knew that, but…abs. Wow. It probably should have been a hint about the not-just-straight thing, his appreciation of really nice abs, but girls can have amazing abs too, right? It’s not definitive.

 

The dick thing is a little harder to explain, but then again the dick thing is pretty much just Matt. Foggy keeps his eyes above the belt with every other guy, no problem. Matt though? Foggy has dreams about taking Matt’s belt off with his _teeth._

 

It’s not just Matt’s body that’s amazing—it’s the way he’s _using_ it. His movements are smooth, one punch after another, sandbag swinging like a metronome, one-two, one-two, one-two. Foggy’s no expert, but even he can see that Matt’s connecting with an impressive amount of force. The working of his muscles is clearer with the thin shirt, and every movement is graceful, like a dance. So yeah, Matt’s body is pretty fantastic, and apparently so are his skills.

 

That’s still not the part that makes Foggy fall in love. No, what he falls in love with is Matt’s smile.

 

Well, that’s not a surprise. Foggy’s been infatuated with Matt’s smile since the moment they met. It’s always so bright, and Matt always _means_ it when he smiles at Foggy. The smiles were simple for a good time after they met, but now there’s a deep fondness to them that makes Foggy’s chest tight. Matt’s smiles are sometimes warm, sometimes roguish, sometimes wry—a million different things. Foggy is only a little ashamed to say that he’s made a chart in his head about his favorites.

 

He’s never seen this smile before. Matt’s smiles always have a certain level of calmness to them, a gentle curve and soft corners. This smile, though, it’s… it’s…

 

It’s _savage._ Matt’s grin is wide and showing a few too many teeth. It’s a bit too sharp, and there’s a fierce joy that sharpens it even more every time he lands a punch. His eyes are dark, Foggy can see it from here—adrenaline, sure, but Foggy thinks there’s more. There’s a certain ecstasy in them, and maybe it’s just from an exercise high but Foggy doubts it. Not with a smile like that. It’s a predator’s smile, a wolf’s grin right before it swallows a rabbit.

 

Foggy loves that smile the second he sees it, because he’s never seen Matt look so _happy._

 

“So, are you imagining someone when you hit that thing? Because if you are, I think I should probably warn them to flee the country.”

 

To Foggy’s surprise, Matt jumps about a foot into the air, like some guilty cat caught stalking a canary right out of an old cartoon. It’s odd, because Matt always knows when Foggy’s coming. Foggy’s not sure if he’s noisy or if Matt can just hear better than most people, but he can always tell when Foggy’s nearby. This time though, he looks startled. Too busy to notice, focused in a way Foggy’s never seen before.

 

The savage smile slips and softens to something mild and kind, and Foggy knows that it’s not _fake,_ exactly, but the softness doesn’t seem quite right with the dark eyes and the wild hair.

 

“No one.” Matt assures him quickly, then cocks his head, considering. “I thought you were in class for another hour.” There’s something about the way he says it that makes Foggy think Matt was actually _counting_ on this fact. He wonders if Matt plans his training around Foggy’s schedule. If Matt does plan, does he do it so they can spend more time together or does he do it because he doesn’t want Foggy to know about this?

 

Why would Matt not want Foggy to know about this?

 

“Yeah, pop quiz. I finished early.” Foggy explains, frowning thoughtfully. “I didn’t know you boxed seriously.” Matt shakes his head, stepping away from the bag after steadying it—it’s still swaying from the force of his last punch, a truly vicious one that Foggy had worried might actually break the bag.

 

“Oh, no. It’s a hobby, really. Just to help with stress.” He demurs. “I’m not that good.”

 

And there’s really only one thing to say to that.

 

“Liar.” Matt blinks at him, and Foggy crosses his arms and continues, voice firm. “You’re amazing at it, aren’t you?” When Matt opens his mouth, Foggy adds pointedly, “You never brag, Matt, even when you really should.” Matt hesitates, and then shrugs.

 

“I’m pretty good.” He admits reluctantly, like this is some great secret he’d been hoping to keep from Foggy for the rest of forever. “It’s soothing.”

 

Foggy considers this for a moment. Soothing, Matt says, and that makes the smile even more interesting. Foggy listens to music, he builds houses of cards, he juggles. He does a dozen other things to calm himself down when he’s agitated, and he’s pretty sure he’s never smiled like _that_ during any of them. Either Matt’s lying, or else the savage smile means that Matt’s at peace.

 

That should probably be a little worrying. 

 

“Cool.” He makes his way over to the Matt where Matt’s standing, As he gets closer, he can appreciate how lovely Matt’s dark eyes are even more. Foggy sees Matt’s eyes probably more than anyone else he knows, when Matt gets up in the morning and goes to sleep and all the in-between places. There’s always a certain thrill when he sees them though, like he’s glimpsing a secret. The thrill’s even greater now, when Matt’s disheveled and there’s a certain serenity in his gaze. Soothed.

 

“Yeah.” Matt agrees neutrally, and he gives that same mild little smile and starts reaching for the wraps around his hands. “Well, I guess I should grab a shower before dinner, and—“

 

“Could you teach me?” Foggy blurts out. Matt’s expression makes it worth gathering up the courage to ask. He looks absolutely stunned, his fingers stilling where he’s already picking at the ends of the wrap on one hand.

 

“What?” He asks, a bit flatly. “Teach you…?”

 

“To box.” Foggy fills in helpfully when Matt stops there and doesn’t finish the thought. “It might be good to know how to throw a punch that won’t break my hand if I use it.”

 

“Ah.” Matt says, and he still looks surprised. After a moment, his face smooths to something kind and ever-so-slightly sheepish. Not quite real. “I’m not sure I’d be a very good teacher.”

 

“Really? You’re so good at teaching me other things.” Foggy points out. Matt had shown him how to spell his own name in Braille just last weekend, part of his ongoing lessons in the language. Matt is a _brilliant_ teacher. Matt looks dubious now though, and it’s definitely a no. Foggy changes tactics. “You just looked like you were having a really good time.” Matt seems to be going for an open, guileless expression. Foggy thinks the expression Matt's achieving is a little more 'I think I need to call my lawyer now, officer'. 

 

“Oh? Did I?” He muses with exaggerated ease, and yes, he didn’t want Foggy to see this. Foggy wonders if it’s because of the savage smile. Now that he thinks about it, Matt’s always been sedate, gentle around him. Foggy had thought that was just the way he was, but now he’s wondering if that’s just how Matt wants people to see him.

 

How he wants _Foggy_ to see him.

 

“Yeah.” Foggy agrees, voice kept carefully casual. “Happy, you know. It looked like fun, and heaven knows I could use some stress relief. But if you don’t want to, it’s cool. I might be able to take a class or something.”

 

“No, they’re awful. They won’t be able to teach you anything.” Matt dismisses immediately. He actually seems a little offended by the idea. Foggy supposes a master of the art would be. He shrugs.

 

“Okay, I can ask around. Maybe there’s someone else on campus that can tutor me. Just, you know, correct my form, stuff like that.” Matt shakes his head again.

 

“It’s easier if it’s someone you know, who knows how you’re wired. It’s a personal thing—it needs to be adjusted for the individual.” Foggy clears his throat pointedly.

 

“So, I need to find someone who’s good at it and just happens to know me well. Gee, that’s a puzzle.” Matt frowns.

 

“I really wouldn’t be a good teacher.” He repeats doggedly, like maybe Foggy will believe it if Matt says it enough, and Foggy rolls his eyes.

 

“So I’ll quit if you get too annoying.” He offers. Matt looks unconvinced, so Foggy sighs. “Matt, even if you’re a horrible teacher, I’m guessing you can manage to show me _one_ good punch. That’s all I’ll need if I get into a fight.”

 

It’s cheating, no doubt about it. Foggy knows that Matt’s protective, perhaps overly so. The last time someone teased Foggy about his hair, Matt tripped them into a rose bush. _Lots_ of thorns, and Foggy hasn’t gotten a single comment on his hair since, except for a few nervous people telling him how pretty it is while Matt’s within earshot. Matt can’t always be around to trip people into rose bushes though, and he knows it. The thought of Foggy getting into a fight without him, not even able to throw a punch to save himself, must kill Matt.

 

And sure, Foggy’s got enough judo that he could probably _throw_ an attacker into a rose bush if the situation was dire enough, but Matt doesn’t know that.

 

“You shouldn’t get in fights.” Matt chides, but it's feeble, absent. “But maybe a basic duck and swing would be good. Just to be sure.”

 

“Yeah, just a basic duck and swing.” Foggy agrees quickly, grinning. “Absolutely. Now or later?” Matt bites his lip, uncertain.

 

“Do you have clothes here?” Foggy shakes his head, making a noise of denial. Matt considers. “I guess you could wear mine. I have spares.”

 

Foggy sends a brief prayer of thanks to whatever higher power is listening. Spending extended amounts of time with a hot, sweaty Matt telling Foggy exactly how to move his body, all while Foggy’s wearing Matt's clothes. And maybe, maybe he’ll get to see that smile again. _Thank you, God._

“Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

Foggy doesn’t see the savage smile again for a long, long time.

 

Matt teaches him the basic duck and swing, and then he decides that maybe a few more moves would be useful, just a few. Two years of weekly lessons later, Foggy’s pretty sure he could take down an attacker with his eyes closed. Of course, he’s pretty sure _Matt_ could take out an entire gang of attackers. With both his hands tied behind his back. While reciting the periodic table out loud.

 

Seriously, it’s a little scary, and the scariest part? Foggy gets the strangest feeling at Matt’s _holding back._ No, he knows he is, because he doesn’t see the savage smile and that’s the smile that means Matt’s _trying._

 

“You did a very good job.” Matt compliments, clapping him on the shoulder. “Honestly, I’m not sure there’s anything else I can teach you.”

 

Actually, there is one thing that Foggy’s pretty sure Matt can teach him. One thing that Matt should have taught him months ago, in fact.

 

“We haven’t sparred yet.” Matt freezes. Foggy rolls his eyes. “Matt, come on. Two years of practice and I’ve never done more than punch a sandbag. And it’s not like I want to hit you, but we could stick to light contact only, right?” Matt’s still frozen. “Matt?”

 

“The sparring’s not important.” Matt tells him quickly (lies), and he’s got that mild smile again, the one that Foggy knows is fake. “As long as you have the theory down, you should be fine.” Foggy snorts.

 

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works.” He says dryly. When Matt looks down, obviously uncomfortable, Foggy hesitates. “Matt, do you not want to fight me?”

 

Matt shakes his head, and now he looks miserable. He’s picking at his hand wraps again, something Foggy’s learned over time means he’s nervous or uncertain.

 

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He admits softly. Foggy considers for a moment.

 

Come to think of it, he’s never seen _Matt_ spar either. He’s always with the dummies or the bag, or else practicing ducks and rolls. As far as Foggy knows, Matt never practices on a person. And that’s odd, Foggy thinks, looking around and seeing that pretty much everyone here’s got a partner to spot for them. Matt didn’t have anyone before Foggy came along. He’d just done it all himself, like Matt _always_ does with everything before Foggy comes along.

 

Foggy remembers the fierce joy, the concentration on Matt’s face the first time Foggy saw him, the way his fists flew entirely unchecked. Foggy hasn’t seen it since. Matt’s always calm, and although he seems happy to be there with Foggy, he’s not… it’s not the same. He gets excited when Foggy finally understands a lesson, and he clearly enjoys teaching him, but it’s not the same. He’s always controlled, a kindly teacher with an even temper.

 

“Are you afraid you’re going to hurt me?” Foggy asks quietly, and Matt swallows hard. “Matt, you would never hurt me.”

 

“Never.” Matt agrees, shaking his head fervently. “I would never do anything to hurt you.” Foggy takes a step forward.

 

“Then why are you worried?” Matt shrugs vaguely.

 

“I can get…a little…” He doesn’t appear to know how to describe it, but Foggy has a pretty good idea. That _smile._ Foggy takes the final step forward, reaches out to put a gentle hand on Matt’s shoulder.

 

“We can have a safe word.” He offers calmly. “Something I can say to make you slow down if you’re getting too rough. It’ll be okay.”

 

Matt looks unsure, but Foggy can tell he’s wavering. Matt must want this—maybe not with Foggy, if he’s this worried, but with someone. He wants to fight somebody, because Foggy gets the impression that Matt hasn’t fought with a person in a very long time and he _wants_ to. Every time Foggy watches him move, he’s reminded that Matt’s a fighter. He needs this, probably more than Foggy does.

 

“You promise you’ll use it? You won’t try to tough it out?” Matt checks, leaning forward a little, eyes darting back and forth like he’s trying to see something in Foggy’s eyes even though he can’t see much at all, can he? Foggy nods.

 

“Promise.” He agrees, and Matt hesitates again, biting his lip—a terribly distracting habit, but one that Foggy sort of adores.

 

“What’s the safe word?” He asks tentatively, and Foggy grins.

 

“Matty.” Matt blinks.

 

“But I love it when you call me Matty.” He admits, confused. Foggy knows. Matt gets a goofy smile on his face every time Foggy says it. Foggy doesn’t use the name very often, because he loves the look of surprised pleasure on Matt’s face and he doesn’t want the novelty to wear off. “It doesn’t sound like a warning.” Foggy shakes his head.

 

“That’s because it’s not. It’s just to calm you down, not to make you feel bad. I want it to be a good word.”

 

Matt’s already so anxious about this. Foggy’s pretty sure that using a sharp word like ‘stop’ will just make Matt feel guilty, like Foggy’s scared. Foggy’s never scared of Matt.

 

“I’m not sure…”

 

“Matty.” Foggy says quietly, and Matt immediately relaxes just a little, taut expression softening. Foggy smiles. “There, see? Works like a charm.” Matt frowns, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“I guess.” He hedges, but he _wants_ it, Foggy knows he does. “Okay, we try once. _Once._ And you stop me the second I get too rough.”

 

“I will.” Foggy promises again, and he should probably be concerned. Matt seems pretty sure that Foggy’s going to need the word, which means Matt doesn’t trust himself to be gentle. Well, that's fair. Foggy has seen what it looks like when Matt isn't being gentle, and it’s dangerous. 

 

It doesn’t matter. Foggy knows Matt will stop the moment Foggy asks him to. Matt’s gentle around _Foggy_ , and that’s not a lie.

 

“Okay.” Matt breathes, and reaches up to squeeze Foggy’s hand just once before letting go and stepping away. Towards the mat. Foggy grins and follows. This is going to be awesome.

 

Despite his wary words, Matt starts out soft. Honestly, he’s pulling his punches more than Foggy’s ever seen, even softer than when he was showing Foggy the movements during lessons. Matt couldn’t hurt a fly with these moves, and he’s going far too slow to even hit a fly in the first place. He’s telegraphing everything he does, and the only way he could be more obvious is if he were holding a neon sign over his head telling Foggy exactly what he’s about to do.

 

Foggy rolls his eyes and takes advantage of it, landing a punch that’s a little firmer than he was planning to do before they started this. Matt’s eyes go wide with shock, and he reaches up to place a hand over where Foggy’s fist connected.

 

“Come on, Matt. I want a fight, not a game of patty cake.” Foggy teases, and Matt swallows. Then he gets a tentative smile on his face, and nods. His next jab is harder, and Foggy only barely dodges. It’s a one-two, and he doesn’t dodge the other one. It only pushes him back a bit, and instead of crying off he just darts to the side and swings again.

 

“Now we’re talking.”

 

Matt gets bolder as they go. Every time Foggy dodges a punch, Matt’s smile gets a just the tiniest bit wider, a little more confident in his movements. When Foggy lands a hit, Matt looks far too thrilled for a guy that just got socked in the shoulder. Foggy’s not sure how long they go at it, but soon he's completely drenched in sweat and Matt’s smile is practically manic.

 

Foggy’s not kidding himself. He knows he’d never beat Matt if Matt were at a hundred percent, but in practice? Foggy’s holding his own. He’s not scoring near as many hits now that Matt’s getting into it, but he still gets in one or two, and every time he does Matt bounces on his feet, delighted. Matt’s also not showing any signs of slowing down. In fact, he seems to be speeding up, and Foggy’s not tired yet but he’s getting the feeling he’ll be exhausted ages before Matt is. He’s got a while though. His training has paid off, and he’s going to go as long as he can because Matt looks like he’s on cloud nine, and Foggy wants to keep him there.

 

It goes pretty well, until Matt does something very surprising. He’s _finally_  breathing loud enough from the effort of exertion that Foggy can hear it, just barely and only sometimes, and Foggy’s just landed not one but _two_ hits, his first double, and Matt—Matt reaches out and grabs him, turning him around and pinning the offending hand behind his back.

 

 _Not_ a valid boxing move.

 

Foggy doesn’t miss a beat, slanting his shoulder, squaring his stance and twisting back until he can flip Matt over his shoulder. Matt does a rather impressive somersault-roll-flip-thing—also not a boxing move, it looks like martial arts actually—and gets back on his feet a moment after he hits the mat.

 

His face is completely blank.

 

“What the hell was that?” He asks, and Foggy’s not quite sure what the tone in his voice is. It’s not anger and it’s not alarm. Actually, it sounds sort of like Matt’s not quite sure what the tone means either. Foggy grins and preens a little.

 

“That, my friend, was four years of judo.”

 

“Judo.” Matt repeats faintly. His face is still blank. “You just flipped me.” Foggy nods, beaming.

 

“Yes. Yes I did. To be fair though, you started it. Pinning is not permitted in a standard boxing match.” Matt nods slowly, rolling his shoulders.

 

“You just _flipped_ me.” He repeats like he can’t quite believe it. Foggy makes a happy noise. He thinks Matt might actually be impressed. Matt tilts his head, looking pensive. Finally he smiles, a small sly thing. “Do you think you could do it again?” Foggy cracks his knuckles.

 

“Absolutely.”

 

Matt grins, sharp and sure, and runs at him.

 

It’s not boxing anymore. There are punches and weaves, sure, but there’s also pinning and chops and kicks. Foggy’s pretty sure he spots at least four different styles Matt’s that Foggy's seen in martial arts movies, and there’s quite a few moves that he can’t place at all. And they’re careful, yeah, but Matt’s almost _not_ careful. He’s trying harder, but so is Foggy and there, _there._

Foggy kicks out Matt’s legs from under him, and Matt smiles as he falls. The savage smile, the one that he’s kept hidden for years. Foggy freezes at the sight. It’s beautiful, god. It’s dazzling. He forgot how stunning it was, the unbridled joy, the fierce pleasure, the way it makes Matt’s face glow and his eyes catch alight with happiness.

 

Foggy doesn’t notice Matt’s sweeping his leg across and countering until Foggy hits the mat. Hard. Matt moves and then he’s on top of Foggy, pinning his hands above his head and leaning down until they’re almost nose-to-nose. Still smiling with that vicious bliss, and victory there now too. Eyes dark and teeth bared. Wolf.

 

“That’s good, Matty.” Foggy murmurs softly, and Matt’s eyes widen, breath catching. “You win.”

 

He wants to keep going, but he’s a little achy from that last fall and trembling with exhaustion. And he’s worried about using the word, but he’s honestly not sure Matt would stop otherwise. He seems zoned when he fights, almost in a trance. Foggy expects a minor freak out when Matt realizes what’s happened, that he’s got Foggy pinned and helpless, but Matt lives to surprise him.

 

Foggy’s pretty sure that kissing your opponent is not a valid boxing move either.

 

“God, you were perfect.” Matt whispers fiercely, pulling away just for a moment before pressing back in. “Incredible, amazing, gorgeous. _Beautiful.”_

 

He breathes each word against Foggy’s mouth between brutal kisses, but he’s going too fast just like he does with his punches, not enough time to react. Foggy wants to reach up and tangle a hand in his hair, keep him close, but Matt’s still got his arms pinned and it doesn’t feel like he’s letting go anytime soon, judging by the grip.

 

“Matt.” Foggy begs. “Come on.” He arches into the onslaught and Matt’s grin widens. This time he stays, tilting his head and wow, Matt _does_ kiss like he fights, sharp and strong and on and on until Foggy’s breathless and burning.

 

Foggy’s glad that they came late. The gym’s empty except for them, and it’s not that he’s ashamed or anything but there are some sounds that he doesn’t want people to hear him making outside of the bedroom.

 

“You have no idea how much I wanted this.” Matt murmurs reverently when he finally lets Foggy breathe. Foggy’s not sure if he’s talking about the fight or the kiss, but looking at Matt’s dark eyes and smile, it might be both.

 

“I think I just got a pretty _good_ idea, actually.” Foggy tells him, a little dazed. Matt smiles at him again and presses another hard kiss to his mouth. “Not a bad consolation prize. I have to lose more often.”

 

“Tie, definitely.” Matt argues, shifting an inch or two forward so he can get a firmer hold and oh, his hold is not the only thing that’s _firm._ Foggy’s not sure if _that’s_ from the fight or the kiss, but once again? Might be both.

 

Matt is never sparring with anyone else again if this is what he does when he wins.

 

“Tie.” Foggy agrees breathlessly. “Bed?” Matt nods, smile like a razor. Foggy could cut himself on that smile.

 

“Bed.”

 

* * *

 

Matt fucks like he fights too.

 

Hard, fast, no hesitation or mercy. Matt knows what he wants and he takes it. Foggy might be worried that it’s just sex to Matt, because Foggy’s never had this intensity outside of one-night stands where his partner has nothing to lose, but it’s _Matt._ The gentle Matt is still in there, coming out in the littlest touches.

 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” Matt murmurs softly, running a comforting hand down his side when Foggy whimpers at the stretch. Matt’s fingers are quick as his fists, one-two before Foggy even knows it’s happening. “You’re okay.”

 

 _Easy for you to say,_ Foggy wants to snap, but before he can get the words out Matt moves his fingers just right and Foggy sees stars. Foggy cries out instead, and Matt’s grin is swift and satisfied. Foggy feels another finger slipping between his legs, and swallows.

 

“Just give me a second, okay?” Foggy requests, just a bit desperately. “I’m new to this.” Matt’s fingers twitch once and then go completely still. He’s got the blank face again, the one he had when Foggy flipped him. It's like Matt’s thinking something he's not sure he wants Foggy to see.

 

“You’ve never done this?” He asks slowly, and Foggy grimaces.

 

“I mean, I’m not a pure delicate flower. Not by _any_ stretch of the imagination.” He clarifies quickly. “But this part?” He shifts his hips back a bit, testing. It feels so _strange._ “Yeah. This part is new.” Matt’s fingers twitch again, curling a little inside of him. It seems like an unconscious reaction, maybe one of surprise, maybe one of interest. Whatever it means, it still makes Foggy shudder and press back forward again.

 

“Do you not like it?” Matt questions cautiously. “Are you usually on top?” Foggy shake his head.

 

“There is no ‘usually’.” He admits. “I thought I was straight until I met you. Apparently _not._ ” He shifts again. Yeah, definitely not. He can’t believe he was missing out on this. It still feels kind of weird, but not in a bad way. And that one moment, he felt like he’d seen heaven. It was amazing, and he wonders if Matt can do it again. “You appear to be the exception to the rule. Like always.”

 

“Huh.” Matt doesn’t seem upset, but it’s still hard to tell _what_ he is. He’s got an amazing poker face, something Foggy hadn’t known before today. “So, never done this? First time? I’m the first?” There’s a quiet, indecipherable intensity in his voice. “No one else?”

 

“Yup.” Foggy agrees, and then hesitates. “Is that okay?” He thought he was doing alright, but it’s not like he has a frame of reference. The fact that Matt didn’t even consider he was new to this seems like a good sign though. Matt’s face is blank for another moment, and then he blinks and he’s got that mild smile on again, the one he uses when he’s not feeling mild at all.

 

“Of course. We’ll go nice and slow.” He promises kindly, and Foggy snorts.

 

“I’m not sure you can _do_ slow right now, Matt.” He says bluntly. “And I’m pretty damn sure you don’t want to.”

 

“I can do slow if that’s what makes it good for you.” Matt argues, but he doesn’t deny the second part. Foggy shakes his head.

 

“No, you’re fine. I like it.” He assures him, and Matt blinks again, sweet expression faltering. “I love it.” Foggy adds softly, and it’s true. He does like the feeling, new as it is, but that’s not the part he loves. It’s the smile he loves, the one that flickers to life at Foggy's words, a dangerous curve like a hunter’s bow.

 

Foggy’s breath hitches when Matt adds the next finger, one smooth movement and just barely this side of too fast. When Matt hears the sound, his eyes slip shut for a moment, shivering. When they open again, there’s an exultant, almost feverish light in them. Euphoria.

 

“Sometimes I think you might have been made for me.” Matt muses idly, running a delicate finger down Foggy’s stomach, a soft touch at odds with his smile. “No one else.” Is he talking about Foggy’s experience, or Foggy being made for him? True either way, Foggy supposes, as long as Matt was made for him too. “Remember the safe word, okay?”

 

“This isn’t a fight, you know.” Foggy tells him wryly, and Matt taps once at his hip, eyes narrowing just a fraction. Foggy sighs, smiling indulgently. “Alright, _Matty._ Anything you want.”

 

“Made for me.” Matt murmurs again, worshipful, and leans back in.

 

Matt takes him at his word, because he goes back to his earlier pace, fast and fire. Quick and sure as his movements are, though, Foggy knows he’s being careful. Foggy’s heard it can hurt a bit on the first time, but as fierce as Matt is he makes sure Foggy’s ready. When Foggy says he’s not sure, Matt nods.

 

“Stretching can only do so much. You need to relax a little more.” He agrees easily, and proceeds to slip down and give Foggy what is probably the best blowjob of his life. “Much better.” Matt sighs when Foggy’s loose and boneless. “Ready now?” Foggy nods with a dazed sound, and Matt grins. “Wonderful.”

 

Matt’s careful the _first_ time. The second and third times, not so much. Foggy thinks he’s going to be sore for weeks, and after Matt’s finally done with him he _knows_ he’s going to be. He sighs happily at the thought.

 

Matt gives him the savage smile again, but there’s a sated softness to it now that Foggy’s never seen before.

 

“I bet you look absolutely lovely right now.” Matt sighs, and lifts Foggy’s arm to place a tender kiss against the wrist. Foggy huffs.

 

“I look sweaty, sticky and a little stoned.” He offers dryly, used to translating the way the world looks for Matt. "So do you." Matt nods, pressing his lips again to the delicate skin.

 

“Lovely.” He repeats, sweet and certain. Foggy rolls his eyes, and then rolls himself so he can rest his head on Matt’s shoulder and kiss his collarbone.

 

“See, if you’d done this every time I got a lesson right, I would have been a much better student.” He teases, and Matt laughs.

 

“Good study plan. We’ll do that next time.” He agrees, and Foggy hums sleepily.

 

“Didn’t you say we were done learning boxing?” He wonders, and Matt nods, playing with his hair absently.

 

“I thought I might teach you aikido next.” He offers easily, and Foggy pulls away to stare at him.

 

“Aikido.” He repeats blankly, and Matt nods, beaming. Softer smile now, but still steeped in satisfaction.

 

“Aikido.” He tells Foggy sagely. “Good for self-defense, very calming. You’ll like it. And then maybe capoeira…” Foggy’s lips quirk into an exasperated smile.

 

“Exactly how long are you planning on me being your padawan?” He asks, curious and a little amused. Matt hums, tilting his head thoughtfully and tugging at a lock of Foggy’s hair.

 

“Two years for boxing.” He calculates quietly. “I know ten other styles at a master's level, so…twenty years. Much longer if you wanted to get more than just proficient, but twenty is a good start for the basics. ”

 

Oh.

 

Part of Foggy wants to know how the hell Matt mastered eleven martial arts in twenty-three years, many of which elapsed when he was just a kid. A kid takes weekend karate lessons or afternoon judo classes. A kid does not master eleven martial arts. That cannot be normal. The other part of him is stuck thinking about the _way_ Matt said he mastered eleven martial arts in twenty-three years, the way he said it would take Foggy just as long. Happy and relaxed. Not a hint of teasing.

 

Matt really does want to teach Foggy ten other fighting styles, even if it takes twenty years—at least twenty years, Matt had said. Twenty years would be the bare bones. Maybe, looking at Matt’s warm smile, Matt wants to teach him ten styles  _because_ it will take twenty years.

 

And that’s a lot. It really is. Foggy can’t even imagine what his life will be like in twenty years. God, he’ll be forty-three. He’ll be _old._ And they’ve only slept together once. They hadn't even kissed until a few hours ago, and Matt’s talking about twenty years. He might as well be popping the question.

 

But is it really _that_ crazy? Foggy’s never even considered leaving Matt behind, drifting apart like so many school friends do after the diploma's in their hand. When they’ve talked about their future after graduation, it’s always been the two of them together. A partnership. Nelson and Murdock, Avocados at Law.

 

“Aikido it is.”

 

Foggy’s been in love with Matt for two years already. He's already got the basics of _that_ technique down, but he's got lots more to learn. It might take a while to master. 

 

Another twenty years of practice is a good start.

 

* * *

 

Matt’s different, after a fight.

 

Most of the time when they’re together, it’s soft Matt, sweet Matt. It's the Matt who kisses him good morning and good night and good afternoon and good evening and good 3:56 PM. The Matt who sings along with him in the shower and misses every note because he’s completely tone deaf, and who pinches him quiet when Foggy laughs at him for it. The Matt who holds his hand every chance he gets, who plays footsie with Foggy under the table when they’re at dinner, who gets down on one knee when he asks Foggy to move in with him and cries when Foggy says yes. The Matt who is slow and tender when they're in bed, who spreads himself open and welcomes Foggy inside with whispered words and warm smiles. 

 

And then they fight.

 

Matt teaches him aikido, and to Foggy’s surprise he’s _good_ at it. He’s not arrogant—he knows he still couldn’t beat Matt in a real, knock-down-drag-out brawl. Still, Foggy’s pretty sure he could beat a lot of _other_ people in a knock-down-drag-out brawl. He does better at the aikido and judo than he does at boxing. They’re gentler somehow, focused on getting the opponent on the ground as fast as possible with the least amount of violence.

 

Matt’s good at the violence part. Not with Foggy, never with Foggy, but Foggy sees him hit the sandbag once hard enough to split the seams, and Matt looks _happy_ about it. And he’s gentle with Foggy when he’s teaching him, soft touches to guide him into the right position and light little butterfly kisses every time Foggy gets it right. He’s still soft Matt, sweet Matt.

 

Then they get into the ring, and Matt’s not soft anymore. Matt’s not sweet.

 

Matt laughs and ducks and dodges, and he has that smile on his face—the savage one. The harder Foggy fights back, the wider the smile gets. Sometimes it’s so big it looks like it might split Matt open right along the seams, just like the sandbag.

 

And when they’re done, Matt doesn’t stop smiling. He yanks Foggy into a kiss—if anyone wasn’t already aware they were dating, they’d know after one workout session—and drags him home, and he’s just as fierce, just as absolutely adoring, as he was the first time. Matt likes biting after a fight, sucking bright bruises into Foggy’s skin and licking at them when they’re done, keeping them red and tender. He likes hard kisses and quick fingers. He likes pinning Foggy down until Foggy’s shaking and begging him to let go, please, Matt, please let him _touch_.

 

Sometimes Foggy has to use the safe word. It’s never because he’s scared Matt will hurt him—as intense as Matt can get in bed, he never hurts him. Matt just goes a little too fast sometimes, bites a little too hard, and Foggy has to pull him back from the edge. Matt’s good, as soon as he hears _Matty_ he gets quiet and calm, and he nuzzles gently at where he bit too hard and slows down as much as Foggy asks him to.

 

It’s the same every time. Savage smile, savage sex, and then sweet Matt is back again, running a wet towel tenderly over Foggy’s skin and whispering how wonderful Foggy is, how beautiful, how perfect. How much Matt loves him. Over and over again, every single time.

 

Jekyll and Hyde.

 

“Hey, you’re late.” Foggy calls when he hears the door open. “I put dinner in the fridge, but you can heat it up in a second. I got you the ma po tofu, and also extra fortune cookies since we need the luck.” Foggy hears the door shut, but Matt doesn’t answer. He frowns, looking up from his book. “You okay, Matt?”

 

“Fantastic.” Matt calls back, but he doesn’t sound right. Foggy puts down his book and stands, moving towards the door. He rounds the corner just as Matt does, and then Foggy’s pinned against the wall and Matt’s nipping at his lip with a happy hum. And Foggy’s on board with it, god knows Matt in a good mood is something to be enjoyed, especially lately. Matt’s miserable at Landman and Zack, and Foggy’s quietly been getting the right paperwork prepared and moving things from his office back home. He knows they’re not going to be there long, and he wants to be ready when Matt finally admits it too.

 

So Happy Matt is great, Happy Matt is all Foggy wants in the world, but right now Happy Matt…

 

Happy Matt tastes like blood.

 

“What the hell happened?” Foggy asks, shocked, pushing Matt away to get a good look at him. Split lip—that must have stung like a bitch when he was kissing Foggy, but Matt hadn’t made a sound. Split lip, bruised cheek, and his hands are messed up, _bad_. “Whose blood is that?”

 

“Neighbor’s.” Matt says—no, Matt _sighs,_ he sounds fucking _blissful_ about it. “He won’t be touching a hair on that little girl’s head ever again.”

 

“Jesus.” Foggy whispers, staring at Matt with wide eyes. The neighbor, the one Matt told him about in hushed words, the man who hurts his daughter. Matt doesn’t sound guilty at all—he’s got that smile on his face. The savage smile. Fight. Win. “Matt, no. We weren’t antagonizing him, remember? We were doing it quietly so he wouldn’t see it coming. So it wouldn’t escalate.” Matt shakes his head, smile fading a little.

 

“It wasn’t working.” He argues stubbornly. “You know it wasn’t. The mother lied and the police didn’t care. No one cared.”

 

“We could have _made_ them care.” Foggy hisses, and he’s honestly not sure if he’s more scared or angry right now. “Matt, we needed to do this the right way. Above board, clean, _legal_.” Matt’s eyes narrow.

 

“Sometimes the law isn’t enough.” He says lowly, and Foggy laughs, harsh and a little hysterical.

 

“That’s funny, because we’ve spent the last four years of our lives telling everyone else that it is.” Matt says nothing. “Matt, come on. You’re an attorney, not an assassin. You don’t do this. _We_ don’t do this.” Foggy pleads desperately.

 

“I’m not an assassin. I didn’t kill him.” Matt reassures him quickly, like that makes it any better. “He’s just going to be eating his meals through a straw for a while.”

 

Foggy looks down at Matt’s hands again. Blood, so much blood. How much is Matt’s and how much _isn’t_?

 

“Matt, no.” Foggy says, voice thick. Matt swallows, stepping away and spreading his fingers like they’re stiff—well, they might be. Heaven knows Matt gave them a good workout tonight.

 

“I thought you’d be happy.” He whispers, and he looks crushed. Foggy laughs again, incredulous.

 

“Happy.” He repeats disbelievingly. “You thought I’d be _happy_ about you breaking the law, beating a man almost to death, and breaking your _hands_ in the process?” A horrible thought strikes him and he reaches down, ghosting his fingers carefully over Matt’s. “Oh, god. They’re _not_ broken, are they? Please tell me you’re okay.”

 

Foggy’s terrified, but Matt’s the most important thing. Matt loves his hands, and Foggy loves them too. It would destroy Matt if he ruined his hands. And there’s so much _blood…_

 

“I’m okay.” Matt promises him. “I’m good. The blood’s not…”

 

_Not mine._

“Right.” Foggy mutters, a little numb. And he can’t believe he’s saying this, he hates himself, but, “Any witnesses?” Matt hesitates, but shakes his head.

“No one was around.” He replies, and Matt would know. He’d told Foggy about his senses six months after they got together. It hadn’t been as big of a shock as Matt seemed to think it would be, because Foggy already knew Matt could find him in a full lecture hall when Foggy wasn’t saying a word. Heartbeat, Matt had explained. Matt had said he could find Foggy’s heartbeat anywhere on campus, and it had been amazing. Foggy had told him so. And Matt had smiled, shy and sweet, and told Foggy what his world sounded like.

 

Matt’s not smiling now.

 

“Good. At least I don’t have to try to convince a court you’re crazy to keep you out of jail—not that it would be a hard sell, all things considered.” Foggy mutters a little bitterly. Matt flinches, stepping away from where he was still crowding Foggy against the wall.

 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, looking miserable. “You were supposed to be happy.”

 

 _Why the hell would I be happy?_ Foggy wants to yell, wants to scream. _You hurt someone and you hurt yourself and you hurt me too. And I hate that, I hate this, I hate—_

Matt’s picking at his hand wraps. Foggy know the gesture by heart now. Matt did it on the day he promised to teach Foggy to box. He did it on the day they got together. He did it on the day he told Foggy he loved him for the first time. Matt picks at his hand wraps when he’s nervous, when he’s uncertain.

 

When he’s scared.

 

It's still Matt. Foggy should have seen this coming. He knows what Matt looks like after a fight. He knows how much Matt wants to help people, how frustrated he gets when he can't. And Foggy had thought about it too, socking that monster in the face and to hell with the consequences. He'd stopped himself, but he'd _thought_ about it. He knows that Matt had thought about it too. 

 

Jekyll and Hyde. This is Hyde, this is the person that Matt was terrified about letting him see. Hyde is the one that fights and bites the world with a savage smile.

 

The smile that Foggy fell in love with.

 

“Jesus, Matt.” Foggy whispers again, pulling Matt’s fingers away from the tattered cloths. They’ll have to toss them—they’re frayed and bloody and almost worn through. Matt’s used them too much. Foggy tries not to think about the implications of that. “Okay, it’s okay. You just…get out of those clothes, alright?” Foggy’s going to burn them until there's nothing left but ashes and memories. “Get in the shower and clean up, and then we’ll get you something to eat. Fortune cookies, for good luck.” He smiles weakly. Matt nods.

 

“You'll come with me, right?” He pleads, and he sounds unsure and afraid. His eyes are wide and a little wet, and his smile is shaky. Foggy doesn’t even have to think about it, not when Matt looks like that.

 

“Of course I will.” He promises, and leads Matt to the bathroom. As they’re waiting for the water to heat up, Foggy helps him unwrap the bloodstained bandages from his hands. “Matt?” Foggy asks quietly, watching the red spread over his own hands as he works, faint but _there._

 

“Mm-hmm?” Matt hums in question. He’s running his freed fingers over any bare skin he can find, like Foggy’s one of his books—if Matt tries hard enough, he can read it, he can understand. Matt _doesn’t_ understand. Foggy’s not sure he can.

 

“You’re going to do it again, aren’t you?” Matt stills. The water sounds like a thunderstorm, harsh water and the echo of sound when it hits the tile. It’s too loud in Foggy’s ears, and he wonders how it must sound to Matt. Deafening. Maddening. It’s too loud, because Matt’s too quiet.

 

“Yes.” Matt says finally, and Foggy nods and takes a deep breath.

 

“Even if I ask you to stop? _Matty?”_

 

Matt’s fingers tighten and he closes his eyes, swallowing hard. He looks like he’s in more pain than he’s been all night, just from that one word.

 

“Please don’t ask me to.” He begs, and there’s Foggy’s answer. Matt would stop if Foggy said _Matty,_ because _Matty_ is the word that means Foggy needs to feel safe. The word that means he needs Matt to _make_ him feel safe. 

 

Matty would kill Hyde in a second if Foggy asked him to.

 

Foggy sighs, and the last loop of the bandage slips free. Foggy lets it slip through his fingers ( _burn_ it later too) and pulls Matt towards the shower.

 

“Be more careful next time. Matt.”

 

* * *

 

Matt does it again. And again. And again.

 

He comes home sometimes, late at night, and he wakes Foggy up with a warm kiss and that savage smile. And Foggy still loves that smile, he does, so he kisses back and pulls Matt into bed. He wonders if Matt feels the way Foggy’s fingers linger and roam methodically, checking every inch of skin he can for cuts and bruises.

 

Matt’s careful, and he’s a hell of a fighter. The worst Foggy finds is a few marks that could be caused just as easily as bumping into something, and none of them are on Matt’s face. When he wears suits into work it’s almost impossible to tell that something might be wrong. If Foggy hadn’t cataloged every freckle on Matt’s body the night before, he’d be just as fooled as the rest of them.

 

They quit Landman and Zack and get a shabby office and a lovely secretary, and it’s good. Matt’s a little banged up from fending off Karen’s attackers, but no worse than he gets any of the other times he goes out. And Karen’s wonderful. She’s obviously attracted to Matt—well, who isn’t—but she sees Matt kiss Foggy good morning like he didn’t already do that ten times today and she doesn’t miss a beat. ‘Adorable’, she assures Foggy. ‘You two are great together.’ And they are great together, they are, until…

 

Until Claire calls.

 

“So.” Foggy begins slowly, leaning against the doorframe and watching Matt settle gingerly into bed. Lots of bed rest, Claire had instructed. Check his bandages, tuck him in, and keep him away from psychotic Russian mafias. Sound advice. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? Maybe just some crackers?” Matt shakes his head.

 

“Not hungry.” He says, and he sounds a little sullen. Foggy knows why—Matt’s expecting a fight, and not the kind he likes.

 

In a physical fight, Matt likes punching, quick and brutal. That’s what he’s expecting in a verbal fight too, sharp words and hissed accusations, and he hates it. Outside of the ring, Matt’s not so good at defending himself. He takes words to heart and he never lets himself forget—or forgive, and it’s _Matt_ that Matt won’t forgive. He always blames himself. Matt’s expecting a punch.

 

Foggy doesn’t like punching. Foggy likes the slow attacks, the ones you don’t see coming until you hit the mat. Least amount of violence possible.

 

“Later, then.” Foggy offers, voice soft and smile softer. “You’re right, you should be resting right now. You do too much, you know?” He walks over towards the bed, tugging the blankets a little higher over Matt’s waist and sitting down next to him, touching his shoulder briefly in welcome.

 

“I do it as much as I need to. You know that.” Matt tells him slowly, and there’s a wary slant to his mouth. Still waiting for the first fist to fly, metaphorically speaking. Matt loves a good spar, but he hates a spat.

 

“Right, of course. Just as much as you need to.” Foggy agrees soothingly. “You must feel like you’ve got your work cut out for you sometimes, though.” He runs a gentle hand through Matt’s hair. “You seem tired.” Matt leans into the touch, relaxing just slightly.

 

“It’s been a long night.” He says hesitantly, a remnant of suspicion still in his voice.

 

“And sore.” Foggy continues, keeping his fingers moving. Matt’s hair’s freshly clean from his shower, and it’s damp and sweet-smelling. He stole Foggy’s shampoo, the little thief. Foggy doesn’t know why Matt even bothers buying his own—he always steals Foggy’s anyway. “Do you feel sore, Matt?” Matt bites his lip.

 

“Maybe a little.” He mumbles. Foggy nods and takes his hand, rubbing careful circles on the palm just the way Matt likes it. “That’s nice.” Matt sighs, relaxing even more, sinking down into the pillows. “I love that.” Foggy laughs.

 

“Yeah, I know.” He teases, turning Matt’s hand over to get the back before running up over the knuckles. “Sometimes I think you only date me for my hand massages.” Matt shakes his head, eyes heavy-lidded but earnest.

 

“No, I date you because you’re perfect.” He argues, and he sounds completely serious. Foggy kisses the palm of his hand before moving on to the other one. Matt sighs. “That feels amazing.”

 

“A little better?” Foggy checks, and Matt nods happily, snuggling down further into the blankets.

 

“Much better.” He agrees. “Thank you.”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Foggy hums, smiling tenderly. “You know I just want to help you.” He presses another kiss to Matt’s hand when he finishes but doesn’t let go, instead threading their fingers together. Matt’s eyes slip closed. “You want me to help you, don’t you, Matt?”

 

Matt nods, smiling sleepily.

 

“I love when you help me.” He murmurs, squeezing Foggy’s hand. Foggy nods, squeezing back.

 

“Good.” He says warmly. “So, do you think I should go full Zorro or dial it back a bit, make it my own?” Matt huffs out a soft laugh, not bothering to open his eyes.

 

“What?” He asks, sounding bemused and amused in equal measure. Foggy beams at him innocently.

 

“You know, for my mask. When I come with you next time.” He chirps pointedly. Matt’s whole body goes tight as a bowstring, and his eyes snap open. “I mean, you’ve already got the Dread Pirate Roberts thing going on. I don’t want to steal your thunder. I guess I could follow the hero trend, get a neon leotard and some tights. Maybe I could even get sparkles. What do you think, Matt? Sparkles?”

 

“You’re not coming with me.” Matt tells him flatly. Foggy’s smile widens.

 

“I really am.” He says lightly. “I’m taking that as a yes on the sparkles, by the way. How about tassels? Too much?” Matt’s eyes narrow and he sits up.

 

“Enough, Foggy. No more jokes.” He orders, voice low, and Foggy laughs airily.

 

“Who’s joking? I never joke about tassels. Serious business, right up there with fishnet stockings.” He swears solemnly, and for once he’s glad Matt can’t see his smile because he’s pretty sure it’s a little vicious right now. “You’re right though. Simple is better. I’ll just go with something tight and easy to move in, but classy, you know? A little bit of flare.”

 

“Foggy.” Foggy ignores him, epiphany striking.

 

“Oh, I know! Red!” He breathes, and his smile is definitely vicious now. Least amount of violence possible, but there’s got to be _some_ in there so he can get it through Matt’s thick skull. “Red leather. Something sexy but subtle, you know? Nothing says subtle like bright red leather.”

 

Matt closes his eyes, rubbing at them with his free hand. He looks miserable now instead of angry.

 

“Foggy, please. I get that you’re mad, but can we just…not tonight?” He sighs wearily. “I’m tired.” Foggy nods, and he sobers a little.

 

“Which is why I actually _am_ coming with you next time.” He tells Matt gently. When Matt shakes his head, Foggy continues. “Matt, you can’t get hurt like this again. I stood back and let you do this alone, and that was stupid. You need someone to watch your back, and I can do it—no, you _know_ I can.” He says firmly when Matt opens his mouth. “You’ve been teaching me for years.”

 

“To _defend_ yourself.” Matt snaps, and it’s dangerously close to a shout. “Because I wanted to keep you safe. I never meant for you to actually _use_ any of it.”

 

“This is defending myself.” Foggy says, and he keeps his voice calm and even. It’s not hard—he’s not angry. He knows he’s going to win this argument, because he’s right. “When you get hurt, I get hurt. I’m hurting right now, and I don’t have a scratch on me.” Matt winces, and Foggy reaches out to touch his shoulder. “No, it’s okay. At least I’m not the one stuck with stitches.” He tries another smile and it's steadier this time.

 

“But I feel the same way.” Matt frowns. “And this way I can keep you from getting hurt.” Foggy sighs, a little exasperated.

 

“Not—okay, look. What would you do if I decided that I was better at fighting crime than you, and you had to just stay home and cook dinner—oh, which I _do,_ by the way.” He reminds Matt bluntly. Then he laughs bitterly in remembrance. “I tried a new recipe for macaroni and cheese last week, and you came home to eat it with a _boot print_ on your back. We’re not doing that again, Matt. I don’t care how amazing my macaroni and cheese is.”

 

“It’s delicious.” Matt mumbles, shy for a moment before sharpening again. “But that’s what I mean. You take care of people—no, not just people. We have _ten_ plants in our apartment, six of which you stole because you said their previous owners weren’t treating them right!”

 

“You stole the other four.” Foggy mutters darkly, and Matt groans in frustration.

 

“Yes, I did. But you stole more than me, because that’s the kind of person you are.”

 

“So, I’m…nice?” Foggy offers hesitantly, and Matt nods firmly. “Matt, you’re nice too. We’re both plant poachers, and you help me cook when you come home—even though you’re awful at it and you burn everything but the scrambled eggs. We take care of each other.”

 

“Foggy, my point is, you’re not…” Matt hesitates, and Foggy gets the feeling he’s trying to find the least disastrous words. “You’re not a fighter.”

 

Trying and _failing_ to find the least disastrous words.

 

“I’ve been fighting with you every week for years.” He points out. Matt makes a movement that’s not quite a nod and not quite a shake of the head.

 

“You fight with _me,_ in a controlled environment where you can ask me to stop if you need me to. You’ve never picked a fight with anyone else. You talk your way out of trouble, and that’s good, that’s amazing, but...that's not what you do on the streets. These people aren’t going to let themselves be _talked_ out of anything.” Foggy considers him for a moment.

 

“Have you _tried_ talking them out of anything?” He asks curiously, and Matt’s jaw clenches. Foggy pats his arm. “Okay, fine, you’re probably right. But this is a good thing! It’s a partnership. I can be good cop and you can be bad cop.”

 

“We’re not cops!” Matt snarls, reaching out to grip his shoulder. Even though his voice is harsh, his hand is gentle. “Don’t you get it? None of this is legal. We’ll be breaking the law, and if we’re caught and we’re _not_ killed in the process, we’ll go to jail, probably for the rest of our lives. And they’re not going to let us be roommates again. I won’t be able to _protect_ you in prison.”

 

 _You don't have to protect me,_ Foggy almost says. _Sometimes I think I’m the one who has to protect you._ But that’s not what Matt wants to hear, it’s not what Matt needs to hear. Matt needs to protect people, even when he doesn’t have to.

 

“So we don’t get caught.” Foggy tells him softly. Matt shakes his head, and Foggy reaches up so he can hold both of Matt’s hands. “Matt, it’s not your choice. I’m going to do this. The only thing you get to decide is if you’re going to keep me with you and keep me safe, or if I’m going to have to track you down. Alone.”

 

Matt swallows, and there are tears in his eyes.

 

“You don’t want to do this. You love the law—you believe in it. You don’t want to throw that away.” Foggy sighs.

 

“I’m already breaking the law, Matt, by not turning you in. In for a penny.” He shrugs, almost dislodging Matt’s hand from his shoulder. Matt doesn’t let him, tightening his grip around Foggy’s fingers like he’s afraid to let go.

 

“You don’t want to do this.” Matt says again, and when Foggy takes a breath to speak, he continues on urgently. “If it was anyone else, anyone else in the world, would you do this?”

 

Foggy smiles, and he knows it’s a little too broken.

 

“If you were anyone else in the world, I wouldn’t have to.” He admits quietly. Matt flinches, making a wounded sound. “But you’re not, and I love you for it.”

 

“You’ll be the one with stitches.” Matt whispers, and he looks terrified. “You don’t like blood, and you hate needles. And you’ll need them. You’ll get stitches and scars and bruises.” Foggy flashes him a grin.

 

“Not a chance. I’m way better at dodging than you.” He fibs, and then he shrugs again. “Besides, scars are sexy.” Matt laughs, but it’s a weak, choked sound.

 

“You’re insane.” He tells Foggy faintly. “Completely crazy. I’m in love with a lunatic.”

 

“Aw.” Foggy coos. “Sweet talker. I love you too.” Matt laughs again, and it’s a little louder and more real.

 

“You’re really going to follow me if I say no?” He checks, and Foggy nods.

 

“In a sparkly pink leotard, if I have to.” Matt shakes his head, smile incredulous.

 

“Black, definitely.” He argues, and he actually sounds like he’s considering it. Finally. “For camouflage. And we’d have to work on your parkour.” Foggy grins and nods.

 

“Absolutely. I used to do rock-climbing as a kid. I should pick it up fast.” He squeezes Matt’s hands. “So, yes?” Matt hesitates.

 

“We try it once.” He orders firmly. “On an easy night. If it works out, we can do a little more. Only when I think I’ll need backup, and if things get bad, you _run.”_

 

Not a chance in hell.

 

“Yeah, okay.” Foggy lies unabashedly. “Good plan.” Matt licks his lips.

 

“Good plan. Bad idea.” He corrects wryly. He pauses, looking Foggy up and down. Body heat, world on fire. “Can we go to sleep now?”

 

“ _Good_ idea.” Foggy teases, and pulls away so that he can climb into bed. “Sleep, and then you are eating the crackers if I have to shove them down your throat. And juice. And soup. And ice cream.”

 

Matt’s looking a little thin. He’s working himself too hard, but Foggy’s planning on helping with that. He needs to—Matt forgets to eat if Foggy doesn’t make him. He forgets to sleep unless Foggy pushes him into bed and tires him out first. He forgets to listen to anything other than sirens unless Foggy sings in the shower and makes him sing along.

 

Matt thinks he keeps Foggy safe, but Foggy keeps Matt _alive._

 

* * *

 

The first time Foggy needs stitches is the first time he understands what Hyde looks like to other people.

 

“Ow, fuck.” Foggy curses, and he’s proud that he doesn’t even scream. Ugh, now he’s going to need to get a new shirt, and he likes this one. It makes him feel like a badass cat burglar, dark and sleek. Matt bought it for him. The thug smirks at him—lucky shot, big knife, totally compensating for something. “Asshole.”

 

He goes to disarm the man, planning to maybe shut him down a little harder than normal because that _hurt,_ bastard. Maybe punch him once or twice, even though that’s not usually Foggy’s thing. Nothing too bad.

 

Matt gets there first.

 

Matt doesn’t say a word, and maybe that’s the part that scares Foggy most. He just hits the man hard enough to make his head snap back, shoves him to the ground, and starts…

 

God, the sounds. The man’s screaming, but only at first. Then he’s just crying and gasping and trying to cover his face, but Matt pulls his arm away and Foggy thinks he might break the man’s nose on the next swing.

 

“Stop!” Foggy yelps, running forward and grabbing Matt’s arm, trying to stop the next punch, but Matt yanks his arm free and Jesus, that’s the jaw. That’s the sound of a man’s jaw breaking, a sick crunch that makes Foggy’s stomach turn over. “Let him go! He’s down, stop.”

 

Matt ignores him. He doesn’t even hesitate, just grasps the man’s head in both hands and slams it into the ground, and the sound is awful. Foggy’s never going to forget it as long as he lives. A sharp crack, and then Matt does it again and there’s blood.

 

The man’s gone, body limp and eyes closed. He’ll live, Foggy thinks, but not if Matt keeps going. The man is unconscious and he will be for a long time. He needs a hospital. Now.

 

Matt’s good at the violence part, Foggy remembers thinking. But not with Foggy, never with Foggy, because…

 

“Matty.”

 

Matt’s fist freezes an inch away from the man’s throat.

 

“He hurt you.” Matt says dully. He doesn’t get up, but he does lean back a little, twisting towards Foggy. Thank god he’s not smiling—Foggy doesn’t know if he could take it, seeing the savage smile he loves so much when Matt’s covered in another man’s blood. But then Matt smiles like that after a fight, doesn't he, and this isn’t a fight to him. It’s revenge. Retribution. “Nobody hurts you.” He turns back towards the man and pulls back his fist again.

 

“Come here, Matty.” Foggy orders quietly. Matt stops again, jerking backwards just an inch towards Foggy’s voice. “Let him go. It’s over.” Matt hesitates, swaying back and forth between Foggy and the man. “ _Matty_.”

 

Matt obeys, standing and slinking towards him, body loose and steps light. A wolf. As soon as he’s close enough, Foggy pulls him into a hug, careful not to lean in with his wounded side. Matt’s careful too, one hand around Foggy neck and another around his uninjured half and back, hand coming to rest lightly over the cut.

 

“You’re bleeding.” Matt whispers, running gentle fingers along the gash. “I’m sorry. I should have been faster. I should have told you he had a knife. How bad is it?”

 

“I’m fine.” Foggy assures him. “It barely even hurts.” It hurts like a bitch. “We’ll go see Claire, okay? I bet I won’t even need a Band-Aid.” He’s going to need stitches. A lot of stitches. “Let’s go now.” He needs to get Matt out of here. Matt will hate himself when he goes Jekyll, when he realizes what he did, and a crime scene is not the right place for a mental breakdown. 

 

Matt reaches for the wraps on his hands.

 

“We should bandage it first to help with the bleeding.” He says, and he sounds completely calm, not a hint of the seething rage that Foggy saw a moment ago. He sounds calm, but he's still _Hyde._ “Can you lift your shirt for a second?”

 

Foggy hesitates, looking at the bandages. They’re not clean, dirt and grime and everything else. They’ll give pressure, which will help, but they’re not clean. They’re soaked through with blood, Foggy can tell. They’re black, but if they weren’t they’d be red. Dark, vital red.

 

“Let’s use mine.” Foggy offers as casually as he can. “They’re loose anyway.” He hurries to unwrap them before Matt can check and see that they’re perfect. Matt nods and takes the bandages, wrapping them around the cut. And he’s so gentle, biting his lip and expression intent. His hands are still red. “That’s perfect, Matt. Thank you.”

 

Matt smiles at him, fleeting and sweet. Still Hyde. Foggy’s heart hurts.

 

“Careful, okay? Let me know if you need a break. I’ll call Claire and tell her to meet us.” He takes Foggy’s hand and starts leading him away, just like Foggy leads Matt everywhere else. Tender and light, loving.

 

“911 first.” Foggy reminds him. “He needs help.” He nods towards the man. Matt tilts his head, expression oddly even, frighteningly bland. Hyde.

 

“Leave him.” Matt says mildly, and keeps walking. “I’m sure someone will find him eventually.”

 

Foggy calls the ambulance. Jekyll would want him to.

 

* * *

 

Matt doesn’t want Foggy to come with him anymore.

 

He’s never mean about it. He doesn’t shout, and he doesn’t order Foggy to stay home. He just brushes his fingers over the healing cut on Foggy’s side and asks him quietly to sit this one out. Just tonight.

 

And Foggy says yes, sometimes. He shouldn’t, but the look on Matt’s face is worried and wrecked, and his smile when Foggy agrees to stay is so grateful that it’s hard to say no. 

 

He still goes when he can, and Matt doesn't argue when he does. They just never seem to run into any criminals when Foggy’s with him. ‘You’re a good luck charm’, Matt explains smoothly. 'Let's go home early.' Foggy doesn’t believe him, not at all, but these nights mean _Matt_ doesn’t run into any criminals either, so Foggy never says a word. 

 

He misses backup on the bombings, because he’s helping Elena when they go off and well, there goes his other side. At least he matches now. Matt slips into his hospital room and doesn’t leave until Foggy does. Claire bends the rules about visiting hours, takes care of Matt’s injuries and brings him food and clean clothes. She smiles sympathetically at Foggy every time she checks on them, and he shrugs as well as he can with Matt heavy on top of him and snuffling in his sleep.

 

Matt keeps him as far away from Fisk as he can. He tells Foggy that they should try everything, do it legally if they can. So Foggy should do the law part because he’s so much better at it than Matt, really, and Matt will just do a little snooping off the books, nothing major. Completely safe, he won’t confront them unless Foggy’s with him, promise.

 

Foggy doesn’t believe him then either.

 

Matt doesn’t notice him slipping into the warehouse. He’s a little distracted, every bit of him entirely focused on dodging, ducking and weaving, trying to get a hit in. The ninja—ninja, Christ, it’s like Foggy’s life is a comic book now—is distracted too, swinging his freaky chain blades and trying to land a blow. And Foggy’s good at not being noticed. It’s a specialty, play down his strengths and wait until the right moment. Matt’s the poster child, the face of Nelson and Murdock, and Foggy’s okay with that. It’s useful, sometimes.

 

When no one notices you, it’s much easier to slam a softball bat into their skull.

 

“Home run.” Foggy cheers, crouching down to check the ridiculous red ninja’s breathing. Fine, steady—just knocked out, should wake up soon and the cops are going to be there when he does. He straightens and nudges the man with his foot, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “Do not ever touch my boyfriend again, asshole.” He warns, like the ridiculous red ninja can hear him.

 

Matt is silent, and when Foggy glances over at him he’s still as stone.

 

"See, this is why you need a partner." Foggy informs him fondly. "You space out."

 

Still no response. It's a little worrying. Maybe Matt is more hurt than he thought. Foggy hefts the bat over his shoulder and makes his way towards Matt.

 

“Hey, you need Claire or should we go home? Either way, I think we should get out of the creepy warehouse before we run into any other crazies.”

 

Matt _still_ doesn’t answer, so Foggy circles around him, checking for injuries himself. Nothing too bad—Foggy must have gotten here pretty close to the start of the fight, thank god. Those blades looked wicked sharp, and Foggy doesn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if Foggy hadn’t followed him and stepped in. How Matt didn’t catch Foggy tracking him, Foggy will never know. He must have been preoccupied—Matt can zone sometimes, get caught in his own little world and ignore everything else. They’ll need to work on that.

 

“Okay, home it is.” Foggy answers his own question. “Come on, Matt.”

 

Matt follows him home, a silent shadow. He doesn’t say a word, even when Foggy’s chattering to the world about their ‘batting practice’ and how Matt’s ‘pretty good for a blind guy, they should start a company team’. They get a few weird looks, two guys wandering around Hell’s Kitchen with skintight black clothes and a softball bat, but Foggy’s got their masks in his pockets and it’s probably not the strangest thing these people have seen tonight. The nightlife of Hell’s Kitchen can get a little wild.

 

Foggy puts down the bat by the door, because he’s pretty sure he’s got a new favorite weapon and he wants to keep it on hand. Then he heads into the bedroom to get changed. Matt wanders in after him.

 

“Shower now or later?” Foggy asks absently, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. When Matt doesn’t respond, Foggy tosses his top into the hamper and reaches over to poke Matt’s shoulder. “Matt? You okay in there? You didn’t hit your head, did you?”

 

Matt’s face is completely blank. Foggy knows that look, although he hasn’t seen it in a long time. 

 

“What the _hell_ was that?”

 

Foggy laughs, remembering the words fondly. It’s exactly what Matt said to him right before he kissed Foggy for the first time.

 

“That, my friend, was a softball bat.” He tells him cheerfully, teasing just like he did the last time they had this conversation.

 

“Softball bat.” Matt repeats dazedly, and this really is déjà vu. It’s almost romantic, their first date all over again. “You just knocked out a ninja with a softball bat.”

 

“I know.” Foggy enthuses. “Pretty cool, right? I’m totally adding that to my résumé.”

 

“And you did it for me.” Matt says slowly, face unreadable. “Me. No one else.” It’s like they’re reading a script. Foggy ruffles his hair.

 

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t do it for the ninja.” He replies dryly. When Matt frowns, he adds gently, “Yeah, I did it for you, Matt. You’re worth fighting for.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Matt agrees vaguely. He regards Foggy in silence for a moment, smooth as stone, and then a small smile curves his lips. Savage smile, the one Foggy fell in love with. Happy Hyde has come out to play. “Did you know when you fight, your heart sounds different? Faster, but the rhythm changes too. You’ve got a heartbeat like a war drum.”

 

“That sounds awesome.” Foggy admits, pleased at the thought. His heartbeat is badass. A moment later, he laughs. “Is it weird that we both fell in love while we were fighting?”

 

“Actually, I fell in love with you the day we met.” Matt correct him absently, brushing a thumb across his cheek. “The fighting was just more proof you were perfect for me.”

 

“Oh.” Foggy breathes, eyes wide. Matt tilts his head pensively and this time his thumb brushes against Foggy’s lips.

 

“Although, come to think of it, we haven’t sparred in a while.” Matt muses, voice mild and smile sharp. “Softball bats just aren’t the same. You need a real fight, with a partner.”

 

“Matty…” Foggy whispers warily, just trying it out to make sure it still fits, because he's got an idea of where this is going. Matt takes a step forward, flexing his fingers. Foggy backs away, because he _knows_ that look. He feels sore just thinking about it, in the best way possible.

 

“Let's start with some stretching, shall we?”

 

When Foggy swallows, Matt’s smile widens. _Savage_ , and Foggy feels his heart speed up.

 

_War drum._

 

**Author's Note:**

> So, this might seem a little rough in the bedroom, but take a moment to consider Matt Murdock. This is the guy who stabbed a man in the face to get information and beat a man bloody after he hurt Claire. This is the guy who always has a bit of rage going on, who tells Foggy point-blank that he likes going out at night and fighting people. Who itches for a fight, like an addiction.
> 
> Now imagine that he finds out the man he's in love with can give him that fight, and it's all safe and easy. He can have it any time he wants, and Foggy enjoys it. And you've got adrenaline and feral happiness and this overwhelming peace of knowing that someone sees your worst parts, the parts you think make you a monster (a devil), and they accept them. They accept you. I can see Matt getting a little high on that.
> 
> Sorry to write an essay on the subject. I hope you liked the story, regardless.


End file.
